


...beyond the dreams of analysts

by scrub456



Series: Don't Panic! [1]
Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Douglas Adams, Dreams, Ford Prefect (mentioned), Gen, Mary Morstan (mentioned) - Freeform, POV John Watson, Rosie Watson (mentioned) - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes (mentioned) - Freeform, Tiny Angst, Towel Day 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: Sometimes John Watson thinks about flying.“He has personality problems beyond the dreams of analysts.”― Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe





	...beyond the dreams of analysts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).



> I'll put the explanation of this little fic at the end of the story. If you aren't familiar with The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and think you might need it, you can skip down and read that first. For those of you who know... I hope you like it.

Sometimes John Watson thinks about flying. 

Not the kind of flying that requires boarding passes or security checks. No wailing toddlers, cantankerous attendants, or meals of rubbery chicken and limp pasta.

Flight. Just him. Alone. Nothing between him and the sky. Unhindered freedom.

What it must feel like to fly. 

Oh, he thinks, what he would he do if he could take a step, just one step. One moment his feet would be steady, sure, flat on the ground. The next moment, _not_. Free from the constraints of gravity. Unfettered from the weight of life on earth. To rise beyond the responsibilities, the hurts, and the grief.

Not too far beyond, of course, the practical side of John always reminds him. That voice, the thing that keeps him tethered, never reminds him he can’t actually fly. Rather, of Rosie. Of Sherlock. Of his myriad of responsibilities.

But if he could. Oh, if John _could_ fly? He thinks he would soar. 

Only an idle fantasy, he tells himself. It makes him feel awkward and fidgety, like he’s in the wrong skin, when he thinks about flying. 

Like he’s in the wrong time. 

Or on the wrong Earth.

It’s all a bit not good, he knows. To miss something he’s never had. 

He’s never told anyone. Could never. Not his therapist. Not Mary. Not even Sherlock.

Just as he never mentions _the_ dream.

It’s different than the others. There are no shouts of war. No distortions of light through water. No caverns of inky black sorrow.

He understands those ones. When he wakes up, he knows what is real and what is his subconscious just being cruel.

But then, there is _the_ dream. The unmentionable one. He had it the first time after Sherlock fell. 

In his dream he watches Sherlock tumble, his great coat billowing out around him. Dream John begs dream Sherlock to fly, to just stop falling and fly. And then, he _does._ Except dream Sherlock is no longer Sherlock at all, but another man. Odd looking in his own right, with his own unique glint in his own unusual eyes, and his own puckish grin concealing his own depth and secrets. He’s wearing his own large great coat and has a shabby towel over his shoulder. He doesn’t resemble Sherlock, the dream version or otherwise. Not even a little bit. But when John looks at him, he stops shouting and fretting -- he recognizes something wild and free, and suddenly feels alive again. Just like he does when he’s with Sherlock. And the dream stranger says something a bit witty, and always more than a bit shocking -- it’s never the same thing twice -- sticks out his thumb, and they fly away together.

When he wakes up, it’s because he’s been laughing. It never feels like a dream, but a memory. A happy recollection his mind can’t quite retrieve.

John has no idea what the dream means.

It’s a bit problematic, the not knowing. It’s been happening more and more frequently of late. The dream _and_ the longing to soar. The fidgety awkwardness is growing almost constant.

He’s started carrying a towel in his work bag. He doesn’t know what compels him to do so. But if he tries to leave it behind, he breaks into frustrated sweats.

Restless anticipation has him on constant high alert.

John needs to figure it all out soon. He’s pretty sure Sherlock is going to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this fic during the time notjustmom and I should have been writing for Towel Day last year (2017). Except I ended up in the hospital, and real life got kinda messy, and well.... Other things got in the way. So, I've pulled it back out, brushed it off, and am giving it another go, with the intent of making it a little series of other short stories.
> 
> As far as what you might need to know for this story: The main character of THGTTG is Arthur Dent. If you're a Martin Freeman fan, you'll know he played Arthur in the 2005 movie adaptation. Arthur's best friend is Ford Prefect, who is an alien (unbeknownst to Arthur) living on Earth in the beginning of the stories. Through the course of the books, we learn people can fly if they try (but not too hard).
> 
> So, I had this crazy idea... What if Arthur gets separated from Ford (again), and ends up in an alternate dimension? And what if, through the magic of made up sci-fi movie science, he loses his memories of life as Arthur, and ends up living his life as John Watson instead (okay, it's sketchy at best, but I promise, I actually have a plan for this). That's it. That's the premise. LOL. If you have an idea for an adventure you might like to see John go on, let me know in the comments!


End file.
